The Whitby Witches 3: The Whitby Child (41 page)

Meta screamed and stumbled backwards, pushing Pear forward.

The black dog pounced on the other and the two ferocious creatures went tumbling over the sand, locked in a fearsome duel—snapping and snarling for each other's throat.

Savagely they wrestled and lunged, their terrible jaws striking and tearing out raw clumps of flesh and fur. Into the cascading night the brutal yammering echoed and they rolled headlong in a mass of claw and muscle into the thrashing waves.

Leaping out of their frantic path, Meta watched the deadly combat anxiously. In her hand the blade glittered ready to strike, but the confused jumble of tussling hide that bayed and splashed in the water raged so violently that she could not get close enough.

"Get her, Seffy!" she shouted as they clawed back on to the shore. "Kill her!"

Beneath the cliff face, the fisherfolk lifted their faces, amazed at the dreadful clamouring uproar, and Miss Boston gazed fretfully at the place where she had left Jennet.

"No," she breathed.

Leaving Ben and the aufwaders behind her, she scurried hectically over the boulders and climbed over the concrete ledge to the beach beyond.

The terrible conflict was still churning the sands and the frenzied yowling filled the old lady with horror as she hastened towards the battling hounds.

As the snarling brutes vied with each other, Meta hopped from side to side. It was impossible to tell which of them was winning; both seemed evenly matched and the dreadful struggle bowled tempestuously around her.

Then, with a vicious snap of her huge jaws, Pear bit deeply into her opponent's flesh and Jennet yelped shrilly.

"Now!" Meta cheered, excited and enthralled by the gruesome outcome. "You've got her!"

The wounded creature fell back, whining forlornly as the other pinned it to the ground and the demonic eyes shone upon the exposed throat.

Saliva dribbled from the black snout and the teeth that were already stained with blood glistened as the lips drew back over the gums.

"Kill her, Seffy!" Meta urged, flushed with a delicious thrill. "Drink her hot blood and tear the tender meat from the bone!"

Her daughter growled menacingly at her prone, sprawling victim, but as she brought her powerful head down to rip and rend, the hellish glare dimmed in the beast's eyes.

"What are you waiting for?" Meta screeched. "Butcher her!"

Yet instead of slaughtering the other animal, the hound's pink tongue unfurled and tenderly it licked the whining dog's large brown face.

Meta shrieked in disgust. "Must I do it all myself?" she cried. "Get off, you disobedient fool!"

Harshly, she kicked Pear aside and her daughter gave a startled bark as she was pushed on to the sand.

Raising the dagger, Meta stooped over Jennet, whose glimmering eyes gazed up at her piteously. But the witch was unmoved and brought the blade swiftly down.

With a tremendous, baying cry, Pear sprang at her mother and Meta yelled in alarm as the huge black hound cannoned into her. The witch was thrown down, but in her astonishment and without realising what she was doing, the dagger plunged deep into Pear's ribs.

The witch's daughter let out an agonised howl and collapsed on top of her. A fount of blood was gushing from the horrendous puncture in the beast's furry skin and it thrashed its legs, unable to stand.

"Seffy!" Meta shouted, dragging herself out from under the writhing animal. "Seffy, get up!"

But the hound could only whimper and as she watched, its panicky struggles became increasingly laboured. With a mighty effort, the stricken beast raised its head and its outline rippled and dwindled.

Upon the blood-stained sand Pear regained her human form, but her life was ebbing away and she looked imploringly up at her mother.

Meta stared at her in horror and disbelief. "Pear," she breathed, desperately putting her arms about the girl's naked body and trying to staunch the spurting blood. "What have I done? Oh, what have I done?"

"It had to end," Pear murmured. "The killing had to stop."

"Hush," the woman wept, cradling her in her arms. "Oh Pear—oh my baby. Help me, someone—God help me!"

Around Meta's neck the string of beads broke and with her dead daughter in her arms a grotesque and hollow scream issued from the woman's lips as she felt the full torment of what she had done.

"PEEEEAAAAAAAAARRRRRR!"

Shivering on the sands close by, a cruel bite bleeding on her shoulder, Jennet felt the tortured cry cut right through her and she buried her face in her hands.

"Jennet," a gentle voice said close by, "I'm so very sorry."

The girl threw herself into Miss Boston's arms and the old lady covered her with her cloak.

"Pear!" Jennet wept. "Oh Pear!"

Aunt Alice held her tightly. "That's it," she told her, "you let it all out."

"She... she was... was... she was my friend!" the girl sobbed. "She was my best friend."

The old lady hugged her and looked sadly at Meta. The distraught woman clutched her daughter's limp body to her breast and sixteen years of wasted love came mewling from her broken heart.

"Come now," Miss Boston said gently to Jennet, "put on your clothes and we'll see to that nasty wound."

But from the direction of the cliffs Nelda cried out with pain and the old lady knew that the dangers were not yet over and that the night's sorrow was not yet complete.

With her head cocked insolently at the coven, Rowena Cooper stepped from the dark water of the pool and cackled hideously.

"I wasn't expecting a brass band and parties in the streets," she remarked sarcastically, surveying the witches with careless disdain, "but a glad smile or two wouldn't go amiss. Look at you all, gaping at me like dummies in a shop window! My, what a rag-tag bunch the coven is—I had forgotten.

"Hillian, dressing to impress as usual—how marvellously funny you still appear. But ah, your scarlet war paint suits you—let's hope the scars never heal, they give your drab olive face that certain panache it never had. And where is Snivelling Liz—is she scuttling around somewhere at the back? We do seem to be depleted, don't we? No Mannish Miriam or Potato Sack Judith? What, not even the stunning Meta—has the harlot deserted us at last? Has she found comfort in another man's embrace—or just his money? Whatever the case, I pray she has dragged that stinking brat with her."

Tossing her head dismissively, Rowena then turned her full attention to her husband. "And what of you, my dearest?" she crooned ironically. "Are you not overjoyed to see me back? So often have my despairing thoughts turned to you as I wandered in the lonely void."

A resentful sneer crossed Nathaniel's face. "If you thought about me at all," he said doubtfully, "it wouldn't be with affection."

Rowena pouted with feigned injury. "I haven't forgotten those early days in Nairobi," she drawled. "Do you not remember when it was just we two? Those were fine, adventurous times, in that Masai village where you took command and the tribe yielded the secret of change to you. How many infants did we murder that hot night? I know I slew three but you did enjoy it so, didn't you—I quite lost track. Do you know, darling, I think that must have been one of the happiest times we had together."

"That was a long time ago," Nathaniel said curtly. "We were both young, and you couldn't do enough for me. Oh, how things changed."

Rowena gurgled in mild astonishment. "Of course they did!" she laughed, stealing over the muddy bank. "I grew to despise you."

Nursing her bleeding face, Hillian Fogle eyed Rowena with hatred and distrust. "Beware, my Lord!" she called. "Artful and dangerous is she. Did Roselyn not betray you and pursue the Staff of Hilda for her own glory?"

"Really, Hillian," Rowena snorted, "your English still leaves a lot to be desired."

Nathaniel took a step backwards as his wife crept nearer. "What is it you want?" he asked. "You haven't cheated Death merely to indulge in nostalgia; that was never your way, my dear. Hillian speaks the truth; you did betray me, the staff was not meant for you to wield."

"Pooh," she purred acidly, stalking closer. "I never wanted the thing! I am here simply because you are still the keeper of my heart. Throughout the empty reaches of death, your image did haunt my melancholy soul and I have been sustained by the undreamed of hope of this one moment."

Rowena raised her arms to him and held them open, but the warlock knew his duplicitous wife too well to trust her.

"You could never lie to me, Roselyn," he snapped.
"I
always discovered the truth that lurked beneath your deceptions—have you forgotten?"

For an instant a vengeful light glinted in Rowena's eyes but she tittered and continued to advance towards him.

"Deny that the Lord of the Frozen Wastes has sent you back," Nathaniel challenged, "for my ears are well used to the sound of your subtle lies. Tell me what he hopes to gain by this."

"Are not the Deep Ones most merciful?" she answered. "Their power knows no bounds and to all of us here they have granted our dearest wishes. You, my fine Duke of the Darkness, baron of my heart, are restored to life and my coven sisters are reunited with their deity once more."

She threw her arms above her head and giggled wildly. "But I," she roared, "have been given the greatest gift of all, though the price to myself is costly indeed and from this awful pact I shall never be released. Yet gladly did I accept and never once, throughout the endless stretch of eternity, shall I regret it."

The warlock scowled as Rowena moved close to him. "What pact do you speak of?" he asked. "What has been promised to you?"

But she made no reply and the warlock began to feel unaccountably afraid. Raising his hand he summoned his powers and threw up a shimmering barrier of dark enchantment between them.

"Oh Nathaniel," she laughed, stepping leisurely through the seething spells which dissipated harmlessly around her, "are you frightened of me? How clever of you."

Her husband stumbled back and his black sorceries blasted before him, weaving a mightier wall of defence. Yet this also failed. Rowena breezed through it and her crowing voice sang his name gloatingly as she reached out and stroked his bearded face.

"Tell me you forgive the mistakes I made," she pleaded in a childish voice, wrapping her arms about him. "You know I never desired to wield Hilda's Staff to usurp you and rule in your stead. That was the last thing I wanted."

Rubbing her cheek against his, she pressed against him, savouring the delicious moments that would nourish her forevermore.

The warlock took hold of her wrists and tried to pull her away but the woman clung to him desperately. "Get off me!" he commanded but Rowena hugged him more tightly than ever.

"Kiss me," she begged, "just one last time."

Her lips pushed over his spluttering mouth and lingered there despite his struggling protests and then, laying her head on his shoulder, the woman sighed with satisfaction.

"It's done," she breathed, "and I am contented."

Nathaniel spat on the ground and again attempted to throw her from him.

"No, my wretched love," she muttered, "you cannot be rid of me now. This is why I am here. This is why the Lord of the Frozen Wastes has granted me this one, glorious moment."

"You're mad!" he cried, clawing at her arms to wrench her clear, but the woman's strength was incredible and her arms were locked like bars of iron about him.

Rowena shrieked with fey laughter. "Oh my fabulous husband!" she hooted. "Yes, I came here to steal the Staff of Hilda but for one purpose only—to be free of you! Yet even in death your despised memory plagued and tormented me."

"Let me go!" he yelled. "Roselyn, that is an order!"

"You don't understand!" she crowed. "I stopped serving you long ago. The Lord of the Frozen Wastes is my master. For many months now I have done his bidding and lain hidden in dark places, hoping beyond hope for such a chance as this. Now all bargains are void and I am to be the instrument of the Allpowerful!"

"Hillian!" Nathaniel called. "Help me—kill her!"

The other members of the coven rushed forward and their hands tore at Rowena but the woman whooped insanely and there was nothing they could do. "Too late!" she trilled. "I am beyond you now. My master has made me strong and given me life eternal—although in return I have sacrificed this human form."

Her wild eyes flashed triumphantly before the warlock's fearful face and in a low, condemning rattle she said goodbye.

"Now I shall be free," she breathed, "but you will be a part of me until the end."

And so Rowena Cooper abandoned her true shape and assumed the raiment which the Lord of the Frozen Wastes had decreed she must wear till the breaking of the world.

Without warning, from the wide flapping sleeves of her black gown, a mass of tentacles whipped and writhed and her arms melted into ropes of clammy muscle. The woman's face bubbled as her eyes ballooned into two great fragmented clusters and her flesh sagged into grotesque blubbery rolls of slime.

Nathaniel screamed as the wriggling, snaking nightmare bound its coils tightly about him and the spy of the freezing deep gave a bellowing shriek.

"Save me!" the warlock screeched, his nostrils filled with the stench of rotting weed that beat from the apparition.

The witches wailed and struck at the bloated monster with their knives but Rowena's new form ignored their puny stings and with a braying rumble the pale underside of her deformed body flowed over her husband's frame and enveloped him just as it had Susannah O'Donnell.

"NOOOO!" Nathaniel clamoured as the acid began eating through his clothes. "Hillian!"

Horrified and flailing their arms against the quivering flesh of the monster in abject terror, the coven called to their beloved as the grey frills of glistening skin crept up to his chest.

The warlock's screams were terrible to hear. Into the vast bulk of the wobbling creature he slowly dissolved and a vile sucking squelch boiled up from the greedy innards as Rowena consumed him.

Hillian threw herself at the ulcerated hide, plunging her dagger deep into the putrescent jelly. But it was all in vain and the stab wounds healed as soon as she ripped the blade out.